


Six Months to Love You

by orphan_account



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Army Secondment, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AU. Serena is seconded to assist the set up and running of an Army Trauma Unit hospital based in Yorkshire, where she meets a certain Major.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing (and rewriting) this for a while and have a few chapters up my sleeve, so I will try and update as regularly as I can. 
> 
> I've really enjoyed making this, and feel cautiously excited finally showing it to this lovely fandom. Enjoy! (I hope!)

As the car rolled to a stop along the long tarmac driveway in front of the steel barrier, Serena took a breath. This was her home, for six months, grey monotonous buildings surrounded by high walls and well kept shrubbery. Who has time to protect and serve and keep the grounds so pristinely maintained? Only the Army, of course.

"Your badge please Ma'am," the security guard asked, after tapping lightly on her window.

"Of course, of course", Serena squeaked hurriedly retrieving her Army Visitors pass from the depths of her oversized handbag.

"Perfect, and yours too Sir?"

"Reporting for duty Sir," Jason bellowed loudly, as Serena rolled her eyes dramatically.

Directions, introductions and orientations took most of the morning. Aunt and Nephew stood shoulder to shoulder, inches apart, their civilian clothing denoting them as imposters in every room, being handed from one army official to another ( _camouflage is such a bore_ , Serena notes), through buildings and foyers and wards until their feet were sore and their faces tired from typically British toothless smiles. Jason seemed enamoured, absorbing each instruction to instant permanent memory. His probing comments and inquisitive attitude received so graciously she mentally reminds herself to thank Henrik for whatever he's done to forewarn the Army base (or as she now knows it as just "The Base". This was the most exciting and eagerly anticipated excursion, extended excursion perhaps, that Jason had ever taken and the hours and hours of military's documentaries had barely prepared him for the impressive oppressive environment he so happily found himself in. Serena contrastingly felt a curious balance of overwhelmed and bored, though her face exuded only enthusiasm. _Get me in a theatre_ , she begs internally, the normality of treating and caring and healing, that is what she craved, not this excruciating small talk and sea of camouflage, _what are they camouflaging to anyway? We’re in bloody Yorkshire_.

“This is our last stop, and perhaps the most important”, the Lieutenant announced brightly, hand hovering over the chrome push plaque of the large oak double doors, “You're new Trauma Unit.” It was intimidating, the enormous task of starting this rigmarole again. Not Hansen intimidating but it was certainly something.

When this opportunity had presented itself, through the lack lustre description of the impossibly tidy Swede, she'd have expected to push it back. Co-leading the set-up of a military Trauma Unit based in Yorkshire, for six long months away from reality. No way! Not. Happening. Not practical or logical or even remotely possible, surely? She would have expected herself to look confused and outraged by the suggestion that her presence on AAU could be spared for even a single moment, as if she wasn't the glue that held that damned place together. But she hadn't, the proposal felt instantly like relief, like a gasp of air after submersing one’s self in a large pool of water, it was the reprieve she desperately needed after so many arduous months as a blundering intoxicated captain at the helm of her own miserable life. “And Jason?” Her only question answered, a porter position alongside herself and a chance for the pair to live together in a community so blatantly suited to her nephew’s temperament. Military timing indeed. And without a single word of protest she'd agreed.

Packing for six months secondment unbelievably went much swifter than expected. Even Serena took a moment to congratulate herself on the Jason-esque efficiency. Although, this wasn’t achieved through some pencil pushing efficiency seeking agenda, but purely due to the fact that many of her belongings reminded her of him, _You-know-who_ (no not Voldemort), who had walked in, promised life at the end of a lonely tunnel and sailed away on an empty promise. Fuck you, Serena thought bitterly, I'd rather stomp around a parade ground, trade leopard print for sodding camouflage and spend my time surrounded by total strangers, than spend another minute thinking, _pining_ , over a man and a life that would never be because said man was nothing but a complete and utter arsehole. _Fuck you Robbie_. So to prepare and equip herself for six long months away from her home, life and semi-detached crammed full of a lifetime of accumulated junk, she had one medium sized suitcase (and a fluffy hat). The mammoth task of preparing her home for the absence felt more daunting than how much effort it eventually took, her mortgage had long since been paid, her council tax suspended due to military service (thank you very much DirectGov), and her utilities advised how best to maintain the plumbing to avoid any leaks or burst pipes through the colder months. All the boring bits done, Serena took her AAU family up on leaving drinks in Albies, and spent the evening with a large amount of Shiraz in her stomach and laughing heartily with one colleague or another. She would miss them, Fletch, Raf and Morven (even Ric), but it was time. Everybody knew it, even if it wasn’t directly acknowledged, Serena mood had deteriorated and time away from the same four walls would be good for her, good for everyone.

As Lieutenant Smith dutifully debriefed Serena and Jason, unbeknown to them, Major Wolfe stared diligently at the other side of the heavy oak double doors, propped up on the nurses’ station pretending to read a patients file. Big day, Major Wolfe considers, _where the hell are they?_ And by they, she means her. Major Wolfe’s only really interested in renowned Harvard medical genius Ms Serena Campbell. Although naturally she had briefed the entire team to help tune them to Jason's particular eccentricities after a kindly worded email from their CEO, her mind focused solely on her soon-to-arrive co lead. A woman she felt she knew already, having thoroughly read several academic papers produced by Ms Campbell (she felt she’d heard Serena’s voice already, her writing style so distinctive and captivating), and she most certainly had not looked up Serena Campbell on LinkedIn, and certainly had not raised her eyebrows at her (and her ridiculous sexy short hair), okay of course she had but it was scientific for science and logistical reasons and work and shut up. _I must not fall in love with this medical lothario_ , she thinks wildly, before snorting at her own absurdity. Campbell and Wolfe, sounds like a law firm, or a publishing house, does that even matter? Who knows. Major Wolfe knew only too well the repercussions of mixing business with pleasure, she had the scars to prove it, and she didn't mean the sporadic road map on her chest and back courtesy of that inopportune IED. A bitter divorce, a tortured end to a blissfully ignorant affair, it took its toll on her romantic sensibilities. But none of that mattered right now because she’s throwing herself into this final challenge with the armed forces, _one last hurrah before finding a real job_ , she thinks. She's nervous though, visibly so, and she doesn't do nervous, it's curious and she supposes perhaps the looming end of her military career is driving her to really want to succeed in this, her last big bang (so to speak). What would she do afterwards? She'd hadn't a clue, her life had been geared towards the military since she could remember, literally, an Army family engrained as far back as she'd ever bothered to enquire, a life spent serving the nation in her very blood, her DNA, how could another job compare? She really doesn't know what persuaded her to turn down another 10 years commission, or maybe she does, maybe that desire for normality and comfort and love had now grown bigger than she'd ever expected. But if asked, she doesn't know why, she just knows she must leave. It's her time. But one last hurrah to muddle through first.

In an instant, the large oak doors swung open, and all interested parties came face to face. “Ms Campbell, Mr Haynes! I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost... Hope we haven’t bored you too much,” She paused for a moment, distracted by the bright eyes shining at her from the face of the beautiful Serena Campbell, “Um.. Welcome, welcome! I’m Major Wolfe, but you can call me Bernie”, _and your photo does not do you justice,_ Bernie wants to add, but smiles and shakes their hands instead. Serena had expected another hard faced, harshly spoken military drone, and was overwhelming taken back by the softness of Bernie’s voice (and hair). She’s lovely. “Serena Campbell,”  _and how can camouflage look so good on you?_ Serena almost blurts, _how sodding inappropriate!_

“Isn’t Bernie a man’s name?” Jason interjects. Serena cringed but felt instantly appeased by Bernie’s barking laughter.

“Yes I suppose it is. It’s short for Berenice.”

“Oh I see, Jason isn’t short for anything. It’s just Jason.”

“Well just Jason, shall I show you and your Aunt around the place?” She looks directly into Serena eyes and continues, “It’s not much yet, but I’m sure we can handle it.”

“Let’s get to it shall we.”

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you for all the lovely feedback and kudos. I really do appreciate every word.

In a flurry of shifts and sleeps and mass meals times, two weeks slipped by, and Serena felt her time on base (and thoughts) had been entirely dominated by her budding working relationship with one Berenice Wolfe. Something she was certainly not expecting, but none the less enthralled her. Bernie, who quickly realised despite her short hair, it was very apparent Serena Campbell was a dyed in the wool heterosexual, a fact that eases her trepidation immediately. Serena had struggled lifelong for any type of positive working relationship (especially at Holby), to be respected in her field had seemed rather impossible, between Guy Self’s thinly veiled sexist comments, and the overarching undervaluing of her contribution, she'd began to think such a phenomenon was just that, impossible, implausible and quite frankly mythical. But within a few days (in an Army hospital no less) she was accepted, respected and damn well trusted by the co-lead of the Unit. And remarkably, to put it lightly, they got on. They agreed over patients and treatments, complimenting each other in style and work ethic, working efficiently, and dare she say enjoyably on some of the toughest cases. There was an almost seamless transition, from strangers to colleagues and from colleagues to equals. They respected and challenged each other and the results spoke for themselves, the Unit was far beyond expectations for so early on and the morale seemed unbreakable.

But as apple enthusiast Isaac Newton himself defined, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and they can clash, God do they clash. They disagree on paperwork, on budgets, on opinions that are intrinsically their own, and that inexplicably bond them more. The debate, the engagement, the resolutions. Should she loosen the reins with Jason? Was he more than capable? Bernie became his personal ambassador and that was infuriating and _how bloody dare she?_ But did it work? Did he excel controlling his own meal times and his work mates and his spare time? Of course he had, he's bloody flourished. Bernie never gloated, never spoke the immortal words, _I told you so_ , just used her increasingly focused gaze to expressed how happy she was for Serena, for them both to have independence, and for Bernie to take just a little of her new found free time for herself, selfishly, or not selfishly at all, given willingly. Every day integrated them more soundly into a medical duo that was undoubtedly holding the ward and all its staff members together, saving every soul they physically could, building an efficient medical empire that neither had worked in before. They called them the mums of the ward, the other medics, like any mums they were the linchpins that squabbled and scowled but worked so effectively it became laughable that only weeks ago they hadn't set eyes on each other.

As quickly as they had built their working relationship, a personal one had blossomed. Other soldiers commented on the surprisingly (uncommonly) frequent appearance of Bernie in the mess bar, she cautioned them with her eyes, "simply helping our guests settle in," she justifies to them, and to herself, but who is she kidding it was over a month now, Serena knew where to find the food and the Shiraz, the two staples for survival ( _and Bernie_ , Serena would think, when laid awake with only her vacant room to judge her). Bernie simply enjoyed being with her, in a way she couldn't remember ever feeling, and couldn't bring herself, or have even a scrap of desire, to stop.

“Intrinsic difference in outlook”, that's all she lets on. That's all Bernie cites as the breakdown of her marriage and Serena lets her, doesn't, wouldn't pry, not so early on in their "friendship" at least. Though this sense of restraint somehow never leaked into her subconscious, into whatever it was that controlled these longing gazes she instinctively sent to Bernie over a glass of Shiraz, or at the end of an evening with the team, or in the heat of a complex surgery framed by a face mask and scrub cap. A ridiculous leopard print scrub cap, “Oh Hello Tarzan” Bernie would tease her, but feel elated every moment she saw Serena in it, it was just like her, bold and flirty. They bond over anything and everything, two people who walked such difference paths scarce imagined they'd be so similar, but were they, how could they quantify it, describe it? They couldn't they just knew, _you are like me and I am like you_ , and that is a miracle at this point in life.

"He was a pig but I loved him," Serena would justify for her divorce, "and then Robbie came along and promised the world and bailed at the first sight of compromise." Compromise, is that what Jason was? Nephew, challenging, delightful, fit better.

"There's no you without Jason," Bernie remarked, "Robbie was a fool." And her words rang true and helped to strengthen Serena's resolve. _Yes he bloody was_ and she deserved better, someone who could love the pair of them. Someone who engaged him, captivated her, laughed with him, teased her, played pool with him, drank endless vats of wine with her, taught him the Army routine in a way he instantly accepted, and showed her a part of her she'd never knew existed (that someone was Bernie, but that was beside the point).

Their eyes connected like old friends at any given chance, seemingly unable to draw away from each other, and every single look and glance grew exponentially longer and bolder. Serena initiated the touching around week 5, a hand on the shoulder, the clasping of the elbow, it was innocent, it was addictive, and it was almost too much. _Heterosexual_ , Bernie would think, _she's a flaming heterosexual and touches you like a friend because that's what women do_. No such thought plagues Serena, touching out of nature and need, touching to reassure and calm. She touches as she feels the overwhelming need to help and feel needed.

Slowly, in time, the numbers of their drinking group dwindled, and a once rowdy bunch of colleagues toasting a hard day’s work becomes an intimate drink for two in a hidden corner, and Serena feels spoilt and indulgent and captivated and she can't explain it. Or feels the explanation couldn't be right, _we are friends, I don't fancy women_ , but is Bernie just some woman? Of course not. She's Bernie, brave, fearless, beautiful Bernie. The first time she saw Bernie stare down a patient’s predicament, and personally wrestle him out of the jaws of near certain death Serena knew, this is the most fearless person you will ever meet. The respect she commanded, her caring and uncompromising approach meant her team loved her and Serena felt herself slipping into the same trap. _Maybe I'm kidding myself,_ she ponders, _maybe I'm just another in a long line of Bernie obsessed spectators_ , but it continues, inevitably, because it must and because neither can control it. It's Serena’s warmth that smothers Bernie’s resolve, the way she cares fiercely about every patient, every document and every single minute. The way she tucks in Jason's shirt and looks elated every time she watches him contently working or wooing his fellow porters. Bernie imagines herself being cared for in this way, bringing Serena this pure joy through her daily existence and it aches and hurts and she will never ever ever be good enough for that role. But they continue. Sometimes, rarely, the shifts wouldn't fall in their favour and the weight of several hours without the other would be keenly felt, Bernie channelling her frustrations to push harder, and engulf herself more deeply into every single case, whereas the only manifestation of Serena’s longing for her co-lead would be a sadness barely visible, but very much a present, in the dull of her eyes.

"Hello stranger aren't I glad to see you," Serena exclaimed.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Bernie responded and if the location was different, if they were in a crowded airport at a busy arrivals gate, they might run into each other's arms in an embrace that answered both their burning desires, grabbing handfuls of hair as they would bring their mouths together, sighing away the longing and yearning and allowing the very presence of each other to let them feel whole again, but they weren't. They were in an army Trauma Unit, and this was no Rom-Com.

But it continued, this dance they'd began to perfect, lingering looks and an unspoken agreement to spend every possible moment together that was socially acceptable. It was a golden thread that was sewn through them both, invisibly tethered to the subconscious, to the very essence of each other, and the thread was tightening, winding closer with every patient, every success, every argument, every tale of the past and plan shared for the future. It was stronger than any force either had ever felt, more than the pull of gravity after one too many glasses of Shiraz, far stronger than the laughable excuse for love they'd felt it their marriages, stronger than the desire to succeed and thrive professionally (something both had held so dearly for so long), stronger than anything and everything that had felt impossible or inevitable before. So it continued. And learning each other became as absorbing as any university course. Over a glass of red one inconsequential Tuesday Bernie finally named her, Alex, the woman ( _bitch_ Serena internally dubs jealously) that had shown light on Bernie's true desires, the answer to the cryptic ex husband drama and the definitive answer to the burning hot heat that Serena felt every waking moment since she's arrived. “I hurt her and I regret it”, Bernie's mantra.

“Don't regret discovering who you are not for an instant”, Serena reassures her. _Without her you'd never have met me_ , she thinks selfishly.

“I only regret the hurt I caused,” Bernie admits.

“Well use that regret and vow never to do it, by it I mean sordid affairs of any variety, again,” Serena offers kindly with a furious blush.

“Never again” Bernie promised with a smile and raising her glass to cheers away the weary ghosts of her past. And with the knowledge of Bernie's inclinations, of her women loving desires and her betrayal, Serena saw a final withdrawal of the last of Bernie's reserve. Week 9, the week Bernie reciprocated the touching.

"Perhaps not a difference in opinion, at all, perhaps it was the fact you had the exact same opinion in regards to women caused the end of your marriage Ms Wolfe," Serena taunted in the scrub room, paired with sparkling eyes and a hint of a smirk, causing her to laugh quite suddenly.

"Mine and Marcus's taste couldn't be more different if we tried Ms Campbell," Bernie challenged.

"And what's that exactly?" Serena flirted, her eyes betraying the honesty behind the question, and Bernie's eyes responding where her mouth failed her, _you and only you, always you Serena Campbell_ , her eyes looked down to Serena's lips, as she leant forward to place a steady hand on Serena’s upper arm.

It's not a surprise to either ultimately after another shift, another bottle of full bodied Shiraz and another chivalrous walk to her door (from Bernie, "really we live on an army base and you are 2 corridors away" Serena complains repeatedly, though not really complaining, in fact she cherishes every damn second), it's no surprise that for a moment after another longing gaze that Bernie presses her lips to hers. The moans that follow, the gasping, the grasping, all unsurprising, after 11 long and arduous weeks of torturous anticipation.

 


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn you that this contains some more adult language, and is probably NSFW towards the end. Enjoy!

Homosexual. Is that what she was now? Serena contemplated, sat on the edge of her bed, her hand brushing the lip that was captured by the mouth of Bernie  Wolfe mere moments ago. Was she always this way? Was this what that meant? Surely not. She had been heterosexual, with Edward and Robbie and the many men in between. She had identified then and always would see those days as heterosexual. But now? Bernie-sexual maybe? Would she consider other women? Perhaps. And any other man? Surly not. No. So maybe she'd entered a new phase she wondered, maybe she's a washed up mid-life lesbian? Of course not. She could never be washed up (far too fabulous for that, I mean have you seen that hat). She was gay for Bernie and who gives a fuck what that implies and what that means. She wasn't just gay for her; she was in full-blown rainbow-making gay love with her.  _She's infected me with lady loving disease and I can't control this any longer_ , she thinks, and why the fuck should she. So she stood up from the bed for no particular reason, _that stupid lovely perfect fool_ , she thinks, remembering the sight of Bernie rushing hurriedly away after planting that perfect passionate big gay kiss all up in her mouth. _I want her, and she wants me_. Fuck.

Unfortunately for Serena, Bernie had come to a very different revelation only meters away in the sanctuary of her almost identical beige room. Convinced at Serena heterosexuality (further perpetuated by the shock on her face as the kiss concluded), she attempted to regain a level of self-preservation, _pretend the kiss never happened, pretend you haven’t thought about it for weeks, pretend you’re not now property of Serena Campbell and your wasted heart will love her for as long as it thumps in your chest...and hope to sweet baby Jesus that she doesn’t report you. That’ll do, that’s the plan_ , Bernie decided, before a long restless night. The very next morning, Serena fired a knowing smirk across the breakfast table at her new lip-locking companion, that fell completely flat, and she worried she’d done something wrong somehow _(Didn’t you kiss me?_   She screams internally). Their conversation became awkward and strained, the easy fluidity of their constant playfulness noticeably absent. A 10 hour shift in the (their) Trauma Unit did nothing to bridge the gap, but actually seemed to increase the expanding void between them. Bernie avoided her eyes, agreed to things she knew full well she wasn’t happy with, and seemed to be in a constant state of deer-in-the-headlights. _Enough_. Serena invited her for a drink, as per the nightly protocol, a ritual scarcely broken in many weeks, and she declined. W _eek 11 the week Bernie fixed then broke my hear_ t, Serena reflects solemnly into a lonely glass of wine that evening.

This marked the beginning of their new dynamic, the one in which they pretended not to want each other. It wasn’t for lack of trying, god help her, Serena had tried to discuss that evening, tried to voice her wants and tempt Bernie to do the same, but Bernie would shut it down.  Short of running around with a slogan top reading "I love you Bernie Wolfe" she was completely stuck at how to get her point across. Serena remembers the first (and only) time she allowed herself to fall into unrequited love. The sort of love only the young can naively tumble into, what’s-his/her-face, the popular one in the class, the sporty one, the artistic one, whichever one it was, it wasn’t real and yet the consuming force of it feels real to a heart riding along on stabilizers. Jack, Serena remembers, turned out he liked her friend, their drunken snog a forgotten dalliance, and a wound that hurt perhaps more than any breakup in her adult life, yes even Edward. Protect your heart, she learned, and although she never took this for gospel she damned well never let herself fall so foolishly in love before, without checking the road signs along the way, to make sure she was going in the right direction first. But this time, god this time she’d got it all wrong and Bernie had withdrawn from her, and she felt stranded, abandoned and stuck, in complete and utter foolish love. A love so strong she wonders if she’d ever loved before, not even Jack could compare. The kiss seemed to lift something for Serena, a fog akin to wiping a smear from a pair of glasses; suddenly she could only see Bernie, see her beauty in HD, and it was breathtaking. She watched her messy hair flick and her nimble fingers flex (often followed by a shaky breath), she studied her eyes and jaw and imagined placing soft kisses on the base of her long neck, she allowed her eyes to roam the length of her frustratingly toned body (certainly not focusing on some features more than others...). Even her skin seemed to be perfect, and to Serena it was sodding infuriating. If she knew the battle Bernie was fighting, the internal battle to control herself and withdraw to protect, even though every fiber of her being wanted to take Serena in her arms and carry her possessively into her room, maybe Serena wouldn’t have spent so many hours laid awake kept up by her own foolishness. But she did. As did Bernie. A few hallways apart but a world between them.

Week 13, two painfully restrained weeks later (how many glasses of wine drunk alone makes her pathetic... who was she kidding, how many bottles?), Bernie resurfaced in the mess bar, and challenged Jason to a pool competition. Serena, distracted by her loneliness and burdening desire, didn’t register her presence until well into the second game. As her eyes flicked up to Bernie playing with her most cherished nephew, she felt her heart lurch, and in that very moment Bernie’s eyes locked with hers and she knew, _we are going to be okay_. It was a look that spoke volumes, Bernie apologizing for the unnecessary pain and excruciating withdrawal, and Serena forgiving her in a heartbeat, all conveyed through a single look. As the match finished, and after much lustful analysis of a certain player as she bent over the table, Bernie and Jason joined her for a drink. Jason chatted blissfully away about mechanics, or was it ships? Anyway not a single person at the table could tell you because Bernie and Serena just stared at each other, smirking, and sipping their drinks, and staring and staring and staring.

As the (their) Trauma Unit really grew and established more facilities, the complexity and quantity of patients passing through the doors increased. The increased workload however counteracted the reduction of time needed to be spent in planning, paperwork and training. The upshot was by week 17, more patients meant more surgeries, and more surgeries meant more time side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Another day, another young soldier, another unimaginable injury and another number of hours communicating by voice and eyes alone; “We can do this Serena,” Bernie almost whispered during the particularly overwhelming surgery, and the reassurance had been so instant, so effective, she wondered how she could get through anything without this woman again. Bernie was her rock, or was she the water, the ocean? The irresistible force of the tide? She was forceful and encompassing and so incredible and unbelievably inevitable. _She's my everything_ , Serena thinks, _you stupid lovesick fool_. The time spent in that theatre felt like dating, the rituals, washing their hands, setting the lighting, being so in tune with each other, tailoring the conversation to suit what they needed, sometimes light, sometimes serious, always deepening their connection. Bernie’s attempt at self-preservation was quickly dismantled by those weeks in the theatre. She’d learnt so much, Serena’s grudge keeping, her mother, her dreams and hopes. She memorized Serena’s face (what she could see anyway), and she would take it home with her, smuggle it off the unit concealed in her head, and allow herself to gaze at it for hour upon hour most evenings. Well most evenings, until the drinking ritual began again, the nights in the bar together, now often joined by Jason and a pool competition not uncommon (though Jason always won, something about angles and force).  For Bernie, this dance with Serena was the most alive she'd ever felt, and she'd be damned if she was gonna let that slip away, whether her feelings were reciprocated or not, nothing could be worse than those weeks they'd spent separately, how could she go without this feeling again, now she knew such a thing truly existed beyond the realms of fiction? As days and nights and weeks slipped by like sand through clenched fingers, the flirting and eye fucking (let's call a goose a goose shall we?) ramped to new heights. Bernie's fantasies started to leak into her working day, the once hurriedly concealed desire to lift Serena round her waist, plunge her hand into her short hair and slide her tongue into her mouth while sinking her fingers into the intimate warmth between her legs, shot through her mind alarmingly frequently. She imagined the noise Serena could make, the moan as she'd clamp her eyes shut, she imagined biting her neck, sharing breath between kisses, the unbidden desire she'd have in her eyes, and ultimately she'd imagining pounding her relentlessly, in a way they both desperately craved, until she came undone.  It would leave Bernie dark eyed and breathless, desire coursing through her in a way she'd never felt, it would shoot through her mind when Serena would look at her in a certain way, or tease her, or argue with her, or be close enough to smell, _or just fucking exist._

The old habit of walking Serena to her door slipped back, and the chances of repeating that, the thing they never spoke about, increased to danger point. Serena would stare at her mouth, unashamedly, Bernie reciprocate the lip obsessed glares, but they wouldn't come together, the paralyzing fear of moving too fast restrained them both. Until one night, week 19, Serena had had just about enough of this. Just about e-sodding-nough of the belly flips and naughty looks and X-rated fantasies and caged desires and NO MORE. Serena stood in the open doorway, Bernie ready to trudge the all too long journey back to her lonely bed. "Goodnight Ms. Campbell," Bernie uttered with a hand on her chest, as she bowed her head slightly. "Good night Ms. Wolfe," Serena whispered, reaching forward to take Bernie's hand in hers, their eyes locked on one another, _come with me_ she communicated by tugging her towards her across the threshold of the room. Nothing was spoken, no words were needed. The door closed with a dull thud behind them and they took another long moment to look at each other. Properly look, the way they haven't been able to do openly in all these long weeks. The whole room smells of her, overwhelmingly, and Bernie feels like she'd been allowed into a VIP area, like she's finally allowed to experience life on the other side on the door and it's almost too much. There's a dizziness in the air, it's electric and Serena can't fucking take it anymore and sighs. "Bernie I.." She begins "we.." She tries again "it's just.." And after strike number three that's it, Serena's out and Bernie can't fucking take this and wants to run and hide because Serena is straight and she's in love with her and what! _Fuck it_ , Serena thinks, and lunges forward to kiss Bernie wildly, not softly and gently or anything that she'd have expected her to be, but with the intensity of a 100m sprinter at the sound of the starting gun, explosively.

First Serena pushed herself flush against her, _fuck_ , then the neck kisses and what sound even was that, _fuck_. Then Bernie had her pinned up against something, how and when and _fuck_. Then their clothes seemed to be have decided to not be a part of this equation anymore, and probably for the best anyway, see you later thanks for keeping us warm and all that but goodbye, take care. And then they were against the bed and Bernie held her arms pinned above her head and she was on actual fire, good job the clothes had gone on holiday because they'd have burnt off her actual body because of Bernie and her hands and _FUCK FUCK FUCK_. Would it always be like this? The intensity? No time to even ponder that thought a moment longer because they weren't two people anymore, they were linked, bonded, inside one another body and soul and the lines of identity vanished. I am you and you are me. There was no space for conscious thoughts of any kind, just primal instincts driving their actions, the need to possess and submit, the need to take and be taken, to be soft and hard, gentle and wild, frenzied and serene, to feel and taste every inch. They stared into each other's eyes as they crossed lines they'd never crossed together, using each gaze to make promises of devotion and enjoyment and love, oh god unbelievable love.

How long had they been in this position? (Or more accurately many positions?) How long had they basked in the divine intimacy of skin on skin, soul on soul, contact? Hours? Days? Time, the construct, seemed no longer relevant, maybe the only true indicator of length is satisfaction. And Serena had been satisfied, several times in fact, and hadn't struggled to reciprocate, any inch of self-consciousness dissolved by the warmth and wetness of Bernie's desire, for her, _fuck_.  But this temporary satisfaction stopped neither woman from continuing, because more must be found, another finger, another kiss, just one more, just one more. Making love. It's the first time Bernie really understood the phrase, sex was sex, or it had been before, but this was something else, this was impossible. They whispered their desires, in that stuffy beige Army standard room, the room they made love (how can that even be?), God, fuck, more, you're everything, I've thought of nothing else for so long, I want you so much, you're perfect, please just fuck me, you're everything, harder... The verbal stream of truths amplified the moment, solidifying their love with complete honesty.

Eventually they reached a reprieve, a clearing in the madness of the thick Forrest of their frantic love making. Out of breath and covered in a delicate sheen of sweat, they smiled at each other, forehead to forehead, noses nuzzling softly. "I think we might be on shift in a few hours" Bernie declared sheepishly   "..logic would dictate that we try to get some sleep." Serena eyes fluttered closed, a gentle gasp escaped her lips.

"Perhaps you should tell your wondering hand that" she whispered, referring to the slow circles that were being drawn on her most intimate area.

"I really don't want to" Bernie replied with a smirk.

"Bernie I.." she gripped Bernie's upper arm as three strong fingers slipped easily inside her.

"I know Serena" Bernie whisper as she kissed her with every inch of her love, "I know."


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading the final part now, in a feeble attempt to get this compulsive writing addiction out my system before another long distracted week at work starts tomorrow. Also this again has NSFW moments, consider yourself warned.

As the ear splitting ring tone announced the morning, Serena felt the weight of a body engulfing hers. 6am, _time to get up_. Her body ached, certain areas felt particularly deliciously sore (it's been a while, who was she kidding had she ever had such a thorough seeing to before? Definitely not), and the faint tang of sex tainted the air. She stretched slightly, smirking unashamedly, (last night actually happened, this is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill) effectively grinding herself further into Bernie's lap and was rewarded by a gasp. Turning her head slightly she whispered "Good morning Major."

"Mmm Morning," Bernie whispered, failing to conceal the large grin that consumed her face. "But don't start calling me Major," she added seriously.

"Why ever not?" She questioned with a glint in her eyes, as she continued to grind onto her lap ever so slightly, a rhythm forming between the two, both relishing in the skin to skin luxury they'd craved for so long.

"Because it makes me want to pin you down and pick up where we left off last night, or should I say this morning." Serena chuckled sexily, turning to lay face to face to Bernie, running her hand down her neck and through her hair.

"Oh yes please Major, show me how big and macho you are," she mumbled in the lowest sexiest voice Bernie had ever heard, combined with the gentle squeeze of her bicep. Something snapped and that was that, Serena was thrown onto her back, her legs spread wide apart, her neck assaulted by the sinking of teeth and her hands pinned firmly above her head with one strong hand. Barely having time to react Serena simply released the most guttural and sexy moan. Using her spare hand, she ran a single finger through Serenas wetness and whispered directly into her ear, "After taking it all night you still want me to fuck you this morning don't you." The breath on her ear sent goosebumps across her body, causing her to tremble. They locked eyes, so much intensity so quickly, it would be frightening if it wasn't so addictive.

"Fucking hell Bernie," she mumbled, grinding herself into Bernie's strong finger ".. I need you Major." It was wet and raw and rough and fucking everything, everything, they needed. She came so quickly it surprised them both but that didn't stop the relentless pounding of Bernie's hand, wanting to push her to new delicious heights. As Serena drew closer to a second glorious release, her alarm buzzed again causing them both to jump slightly, and Bernie to gently disentangle herself, "Saved by the bell"

 

To say they were distracted that day would be the understatement of the century. The smoldering looks seemed to reach level "unadulterated passion". A smirk danced on Serena's lips almost all day, and a darkness clouded Bernie's eyes. After an excruciating 4-hour exploratory laparotomy, in which their words spoke of Medicine, and their eyes spoken of another narrative completely, a narrative they had only just begun to explore, cleaning up in the scrub room saw them alone for the first time since they'd left her room.

"Ms Wolfe, when are you going to stop looking at me like that?" She tried to use her stern voice but couldn't hide her amusement. Their eyes connected intently, before she looked down to focus on washing her hands.

"When the image of you last night decides to vacate my brain." Serena smirked at this, and the full weight of it made her almost breathless.

"I, God Bernie." She paused for a moment to catch her breath. "I don't think I, actually I know I haven't, wanted anyone as much as I want you," she almost whispered her confession.

"Saying things like that is not helping," Bernie all but growled.

"But it's true," she shot an almost desperate look to Bernie. "Maybe it's because you made me wait so long."

"I was trying to be respectful Serena, for all intense and purposes you were heterosexual," Bernie explained earnestly.

"Considering the events of last night and this morning, I would say your diagnosis in this case seems rather lacking." Bernie barked with laughter.

 And as with all the big changes in their dynamic, the transition from friends to lovers was another seamless one. On the surface the change was very subtle, colleagues noticed a few more looks, a few more stolen conversations huddled together, and a happiness, content-ness is themselves, but nothing that could truly confirm their suspicions, (little did they know behind a thin layer of scrub top laid very obvious proof of a change in their relationship, scratches and bruises on the most tender areas, more toned forearms, developing abs..). Life continued in the same manner, long shifts, difficult cases, an argument over Jason, a drink too many in the bar... And something else. Not a night had been spent apart since that first night, ("I know I should try and play it cool but I would be lying if I say I want a night apart from you"). The physical element surprised them both, the fire, the tenderness, it was consuming. Serena felt her body was broken, but it scarcely mattered, as Bernie would try and heal it every night with her sweet mouth or fingers. Knowing she could dominate Bernie, the moment she would come all over her hand, or her mouth, and be totally submissive, well it was quite frankly addictive. _No wonder men enjoy this so much_ , she pondered, it's truly life affirming to bring pleasure to the person you love so wholly.

The physical intimacy transformed through time, like a blossoming flower, as their understanding of each other’s wants and needs grew deeper. Although the raw passionate evenings fighting for dominance still happened (frequently), they were mixed with nights of adoration, of massages and worship, sharing secrets under the covers, body and soul exposed, of tracing scars and stretch marks and sharing morning breath, the completely and utter adoration of each other, the good and the perfect imperfections. _Love_. Something they'd not discussed, perhaps the only thing, though it was so painfully apparent it seemed trivial to have to even say it. Another aspect they'd gained, the domestic bliss, was a surprise and equally satisfying as the physical element (…Well almost). Making the bed and doing the laundry, spending hour upon hour with Jason, sharing baths and cleaning each other with no sexual intent, planning mundane events, reminding the other of appointments, it was domestic bliss. She was to meet Bernie's children, at the end of the secondment. Bernie had asked her so casually over a drink in the mess bar, she almost didn't register how important that was.

"Well if we are making this official I feel we should at least put a name to it," Serena responded coyly.

"Serena I want to be with you, the only other time I've been this sure about anything is when I enlisted, so if you'll have me, I'd like to make a go of it, a proper go."

And that was the night, week 22, they first kissed publicly (a romantic involvement thankfully not prohibited due to Serena technically working for the NHS and not the Army) in front of coworkers and Jason and God himself. _About time_ , was the general response, even Jason didn't bat an eyelid, he's not an idiot he understands how to read body language he said, to a chorus of giggles.

The last few weeks passed in much the same way. The _I love you_ ’s came and went without much fanfare, the finale milestone on their whirlwind romance (could 6 months count as whirlwind? Maybe more slow breath-like romance? That sounds awful, no not that) and the (their) Trauma Unit had grown into a fully functioning adult and didn't need its mums any more. "You're coming home with us, and that's that," Serena decided, in the final week. And without any protest, or questions or inkling of resistance, Bernie agreed. Because she loved (loves) Serena, and of course Jason. She doesn't care what she'll do next professionally, where in the country that'll be or what the hell she will do with all her military uniform, she just knows that this is the right next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that there could be another chapter in this, but I'm happy with where it stops for now. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks again for the comments and feedback.


End file.
